A Darkening Horizon
This story is about The Royal Allegiance's first contact with a terrifying alien race known as The Swarm. A Darkening Horizon Drake saw a beautiful little town square, the old cobbles awash with the last remnants of a blood-red Haven sunset. Cafés sold steaming coffees to the last of the day’s tourists, who sat talking animatedly on the terraces filled with tables and chairs. A light breeze ruffled Drake’s hair, the air pregnant with the aromatic scent of the flowers from the square centre and fresh bread from the baker’s opposite. In the centre of the square a statue stood proudly, saluting some long dead hero. His marble chest adorned with medals, the imposing edifice silent to the beauty surrounding it. Long shadows cast themselves indifferently onto the ancient stone ground from the attractive buildings wrapped like a jacket around the square, while nearby an elegant bridge spanned a small, gurgling river. Drake breathed deeply in and sighed in musing. He was perfectly happy. There was no where in the galaxy he would rather be. Though deep inside him, a voice shouted in protestation. No, it said. This is not right. You are not supposed to be here. Where then? Drake answered it. Not here! Not here! was its only reply. Suddenly Drake’s vision began to blur, as if blocked by some invisible force. It flickered, as would a candle before a storm, before it faded and disappeared. Drake screamed, but no sound came from his mouth. Panicking, he tried to move but realised he had no body. He opened his eyes but saw only darkness as if staring into the maw of Death itself. From somewhere distant, his feeling began to slowly return to him. Explosions, shouts, ricochets of bullets surrounded him, faint but unmistakable. Boom. No! Drake shouted at the top of his voice, though little more than a whisper escaped his mouth. Take me back! Take me back! Why! replied the voice inside him. You don’t belong there. You belong here! No! he screamed back, but the voice gave no reply. The sounds of battle grew steadily louder, still little more than echoes but becoming stronger with each passing second. Boom. Why? Drake yelled. Why do I belong here? Tell me, why!? Because, a new voice hissed, this one slimy, serpent-like and menacing, full of hatred and spite. It is your fate. You are destined to die here. You and all the rest. Boom. Battlecries Drake opened his eyes with a jolt, his heart racing. In front of his eyes was a HUD, flashing, and his neural interface flooded his brain with information. Instantly he knew what was going on around him- but it didn’t make him feel any better. Then he remembered… The battle….the Ardent… shit! Drake's mind let out a tendril of thought, and his neural interface displayed what his gun sight saw. Lifting his battle rifle up over his cover, a low sandbag wall, he let off a burst of fire towards a thing behind a corner. He was still in shock, they all were. Everything had happened so fast. From the most boring, remote outpost in the Allegiance to fighting off unidentified aliens in less than four hours. Disoriented, Drake looked around and saw what remained of his squad in cover, heavily under fire. And shit, did these aliens know how to fight. "We thought we lost you there Elias!" shouted his commander, Sergeant Ryans over the shriek of gunfire. "You took a pretty bad hit!" Drake looked down at his SPBS-I Battle Armour and suddenly a wall of pain hit him, as if it had just realised its own existence. His armour was charred in a large circular patch, the metal burnt black and contorted by what looked like extreme heat. "Sorry Sir!" Drake called back. Ryans said something about not being sorry, but Drake didn't hear him properly. A duo of bullets flew over his head, hissing angrily. Drake lowered his head a little more instinctively and to his left, a trooper dashed a frag grenade towards the enemy. It blossomed into fiery life and one of the creatures made a rapid clicking sound as it dropped, dismembered. Grabbing its sidearm it continued to shoot wildly, and for a second Drake thought he saw anger in its beady round eyes. Another soldier, probably Radner, Drake thought, put a trio of bullets into its head and it finally lay unmoving. "Sir, to the right!" Drake called as a human-sized enemy began to flank them. It fired over its cover, hitting Ryans in his shoulder, but the round glanced off and ricocheted away. The creature drew itself up to full height and fired its rifle again, hitting a soldier in the neck and flank and mortally wounding him. Somewhere a grenade went off, and a human voice cried out in pain. A small, triangle-shaped segment of shrapnel embedded itself shallowly into Drake's armour, white-hot at the edges and glistening with blood. Drake fired in full-auto mode into the beast's stomach, but watched in horror as its insect-like carapace protected it from the most of the shots. Major Ryans ran at it, quickly closing the gap of four metres or so between them. A large man and a good fighter, Ryans dove into the creature's mid, knocking it to the ground with his armoured shoulder. He pulled his combat blade from his boot sheath and with one swift motion, slit it's throat. Greenish blood spurted everywhere, soaking the Major's legs. He looked quickly up, seeing one of his men get hit squarely in the chest by an energy bolt, sending him flying onto his back, never to rise again. A stream of bullets forced Drake to duck behind his cover, the sandbags now riddled with holes and scorch marks and quickly losing their protective power. Drake blind-fired his rifle over it and knocked down a flanking creature, maybe wounding it. "Major, we're taking heavy casualties!" Radner yelled as he was hit in the torso by an energy bolt. His armour's semi-protective shields flickered and faded. "Sir, we gotta fall back! We just lost Company B barracks!" "Ah, fuck!" exclaimed Ryans as he violently rammed a fresh mag into his assault rifle. He stood up and fired a long burst from the hip, striking a small scorpion-like creature in one of its oversize claws and shredding it. Suddenly a huge, [[Reaper|wolf-like monster]] jumped over the sandbags and grabbed a trooper in its massive maw. It shook him vigorously and blood flew everywhere. Then it dropped him and he remained where he fell, lifeless. Rounds bounced off its carapace and others pierced into its flesh as startled and desperate troopers tried to take it down, but it only growled and shook them off. It went for Ryans, running at full pelt and knocking aside briskly another trooper on its way. The Major had his back to it; Drake picked up a fallen blade quickly and rammed it into the beast's path and watched the thing impale itself on the point, going all the way in; The monster growled and writhed; Ryans turned around just to see its grizzled, plated head sink to the ground with the creature's final sounds. Drake saw his superior pale even through his semi-darkened visor. Drake's helmet comm buzzed and a voice appeared in his ear. "This is Major Ryans, all forces fall back to Defensive Point C, the forward outpost is being overrun. Repeat, the forward outpost is being overrun. All forces withdraw to Defensive Point C." As the Allegiance soldiers fell back, the enemy advanced. And instead of pursuing them, they bent down and feasted on those brave warriors they had slain. The Unknown Far from the sandbag defenses of the outer perimeter, Defensive Point C was a heavily fortified post. The interior of the compound, the scientific research compound, was located on an artificial plateau. Along its edge were entry points, guarded by numerous infantry bunkers, heavy weapons turrets and light weapons emplacements. The Swarm- for that was what the soldiers had christened them- would have a tough time breaking in. The thousands of civilians and scientists inside would be safe- as long as the wall wasn't breached. Drake stood on the open top level of the fortification, the freezing Radiance wind biting into his cheeks like a cold knife edge. Behind him, what remained of his squad conversed about something grim and bleak; Drake wasn't really paying attention. He thought of the other marine squads, just like his, that fate had decided would die aboard the Ardent. Drake's squad had survived through sheer luck- they were already in a hangar when the Swarm attacked. And when the Ardent blew.... "Elias!" snapped Ryans, and Drake nearly dropped his Battle Rifle. "We're in enough shit as it is without you going all starry-eyed on us!" "Yes, sir! Won't happen again sir," Drake replied. He had the utmost respect for Sergeant Ryans; the man never ordered his lads to do something he wouldn't do himself. "So, what do we know about these Swarm folks then?" asked Private Darren Radner. He was short for a Theran, though much stockier too. Drake had gotten drunk with him on many occasions back onboard the Ardent, he remembered, somewhere inside recognising the thought that nothing would be the same again. "Apart from that they're ugly as hell," said Corporal Roslyn Lanford, "and shoot worse than my grandma?!" She was the joker of the squad, always making smart remarks. Drake privately thought it was to hide who she really was, but she was a good friend. "Can it Roz," ordered Sergeant Ryans. "Check your neural interfaces- control just updated everyone's HUDs with all the battlefield telemetry we've gathered so far. It looks like there's three kinds; the human-looking ones, which are the basic troops, the wolf ones, which sort of act as a rapid attack...thing, and the scorpion ones, which are like armoured units. All of 'em are very deadly, whatever you do don't engage them at close range." "Sarge, this can't be right," said Sergeant Jamie Helsley. "It says the wolf ones are five feet tall and eight feet long...is that correct sir?" "Ask Elias," replied Ryans. "He killed one about an hour ago. Isn't that right, Drake?" "Yep. Think of them like dogs- only with armour. They're fast, strong and deadly," finished Drake. "So, what's the plan then Sarge?" asked Jamie, a young and eager marine. "We gonna wait for them to come to us, or hit 'em when they nap?" Ryans made a kind of grunting sound, then roughly pulled off his helmet to show his grimaced face. "On our own, we're buggered. Our long range relay got blown up with the rest of the satellites. There's a secondary ground-based relay but the bugs have captured that too and taken it to their flagship. They have warships, infantry, air support, the lot. I've heard the plan is to draw most of the forces away from the relay and then send a small team to activate the beacon." "Uh, aren't we kinda short on numbers?" said Ros. "How're we gonna draw off the bugs if we're guarding the base?" Ryan's eyes pointed skywards. "We can't. Not properly. We'll need most of our forces if we're to properly engage the Swarm without getting wiped out. We'll have the automated turrets and the civilians to defend the base." "Civilians!?" exclaimed Radner. "So it's that bad, huh." "Yeah. Some bright spark had the idea of giving them a gun each," said Ryans. "I was told the same genius was gonna give them access to the databanks on the Swarm," said Ros. "Why not?" asked Jamie, cleaning the top of a spare magazine. "Because," Drake said, lowering his voice slightly. "If they knew what we're up against, they'd be more likely to use their weapons on themselves." "Exactly," Neil finished. "I have no idea who is in charge, probably Baley or one of the other ground commanders. Anyway, the talk is that they'll send the marines to secure the long range relay. We're better trained for that sort of environment. Not wanting to sound pessimistic, but to me it sounds like a suicide run. How many other marines made it off the Ardent?" "Just one," replied Drake as his neural interface instantly provided the information. "One? Damn..." said Ros. "Who was it?" "Colour Sergeant Robert Mast," replied Darren. "That huge guy from D squad. Remember him? He came onto you that night of the officer's dinner." "How could I forget," laughed Ros. And later that night as well-" "Corporal! You are in the middle of quite possibly the most dire situation a Royal Marine has ever faced, and you are talking about sexual encounters," snapped Ryans, somewhat jokingly. "I suggest you hold your tongue and pray that you survive this!" "Come on sir, lighten up. It's not very likely that we will. Survive this, I mean," said Darren. "Do my ears mistake me? Is there a group of gloomy marines in front of me? I'm gonna walk away, and when I come back I want to see four optimistic, happy faces ready to kick some insect ass!" exclaimed Ryans, trying very hard to maintain a straight face. "Not just yet, if you please," said a voice, deep and rather slow. The squad turned to face the new person, and saw a man tall even by Theran standards, clad in armour. His face was solemn, and his mere presence cast a gloomy aura on the group. The remnants of a soldier devoid of his squad. "Ah. You must be Sergeant Mast. This is Helsley, Lanford, Elias and Radner. There's not many of us, but we'll do our best sir," said Ryans. "Good. The main force is already mobilising, they should be able to mount a proper diversion within hours. Until then I suggest you get ready for battle and get some rest." Nearby, a siren began wailing, and Drake's helmet comm buzzed. "Incoming Swarm forces. All personnel prepare for combat. Repeat, all personnel prepare for combat." To Be Continued... Random stuff To be put in at some point to this story... The creature leapt at Drake, easily closing the distance between them, its terrible mouth making rapid hissing and clicking sounds. It was about the height of a tall man; but like a scorpion. Its body rose up though at the front, where two massive claws snapped ferociously at him, turning Drake’s blood to ice. On top of its body was a head like a wasp’s; only with two large pincers made for slicing. They glistened with flesh blood, dripping from its hideous maw. Two horrible, intelligent eyes gleamed like black jewels in the dark, as Drake was looking into the dark heart of the universe itself. They glared at him, calculating, examining, planning how best to devour him. At the end if its body, a long, thin tail rose up, terminating in a series of serrated edges that looked as if they could tear through metal as if it were air. What terrified Drake the most was that this creature was a smaller one. He ran as fast as he could, trying but inexorably failing to ignore what was pursuing him. But it was hopeless; the monster effortlessly closed the gap. Hissing wildly, it swept its heavy claw to the side, knocking Drake flying a dozen yards as if he were a ragdoll. He rolled as he hit the ground, dispersing the impact. His Battle Rifle was hurled out of his hands, and already the creature was upon him, saliva, warm blood and digestive enzymes dripping from its hideous gaping mandibles. The beast turned its heavy claw and brought the blunt side of it crashing down onto the ground in an effort to crush Drake- but he rolled to the side and jumped up, barely holding his footing as the claw smashed heavily onto the ground. As he sprang onto his feet he tore his blade from its sheath on his calf and sent it cleaving against the monster's chest- but the thick carapace deflected the blow. The insect lunged dreadfully at Drake with its pincer-mouth, lightning-fast, but Drake sidestepped awkwardly and jabbed into the air, fending the monster off. It hissed and recoiled somewhat, but its eyes did not move from Drake nor the claws cease their terrifying snapping. The thing lunged at him again, and Drake was caught heavily in the chest with an almighty whack from its huge claw. He was knocked off his feet a second time, and the beast towered over him and reigned blows all around him with its many legs. One almost impaled him but he rolled frantically to the side, seeing with shocked horror the razor-edged claws on each of its legs. A leg went straight for his chest and he tried to dodge, but the monster was too fast and it plunged agonisingly into his left shoulder, tearing indiscriminately through armour, muscle and flesh. Drake yelled out as hot blood gushed from the wound, and his shoulder exploded violently with pain. Very suddenly, he felt dizzy. He could not keep fighting. But he must. Ignoring his clouded vision and his burning shoulder, he grabbed his knife and rammed it hard as he could against the fiend's underbelly, praying to find it less protected. The blade slid with difficulty through the thick exoskeleton. Drake pulled it out and stabbed it again- and the monster reared up and recoiled, a terrible shriek emanating from its mouth. It chilled Drake to the bone; it felt as if all the happiness in the world had been drained. The foul beast kicked Drake with its forelegs and he felt his knife slip from his grasp. He flew threw the air and landed on the rough ground, spent of his energy. He staggered to his feet, expecting to find the beast tending to its wounds or retreating maybe. he saw with dread that instead it was already upon him, stinking, gaping mouth ready to engulf him. Drake was unarmed, defenseless, exhausted. The hopelessness of his situation hit him in one moment and suddenly he felt very, very lonely. So this was where he would die. But if he was going to die, he would do it like a Theran- fighting to the last. Drake, somewhat empowered by the realisation that his days were done, threw his right fist at the hideous monster with what little strength he could muster. In the milliseconds before, his neural interface had detected Drake's intentions and extended the three spikes in his hand's armour. The blow alone would've knocked out a grown man- but the creature was unfazed by this or the row of three dents in its carapace. It struck Drake powerfully in his chest and he, yet again, was sent dashing to the round. Drake groaned and tried to get up. He couldn't. He raised his head and looked at the creature. It hadn't moved, it merely looked at him with malice from its evil, angry eyes. It had sensed the end just as surely as Drake had done. If he was going to die, at least he would do it standing up. He struggled to heave himself to his feet but his arms shook violently and failed him. The creature began to slowly move towards him, the slow, agonising procession of an executioner. Drake shook all over, not from fear but from exhaustion. He had accepted his death a long time ago. The creature hissed slightly. There was no doubt in its mind, or Drake's, what the outcome would be. It was only a short distance away now, the creature and Drake's death, creeping slowly and silently, without remorse or pity, as death does. Drake could stand up, he thought, if he tried hard enough. He could stand up and face his death on his feet. But something stopped him from doing so. Instead he dragged himself backwards, on his back by his arms. One of his legs bent at an odd angle. But if he really wanted to, he could stand. He should do it. No. He continued his slow but futile retreat from the creature, which seemed almost to smile. Drake couldn't tell, maybe that was the blood loss talking. As prepared to stop moving, to stop crawling backwards like a coward, something happened. He put his hand back just a little further, oblivious to what was just out of his reach. One of his fingers clipped it- a metallic object of some sort. Drake grabbed it and whipped it in front of him- it was a pistol. He gripped it tightly in his hands and raised it, looking along the ironsights straight into the monster's malevolent eyes. His arms shook violently, as did his entire body. He could not hit the creature. Even if he did it was armoured. He did not even know if his gun was working or had ammunition. He shook from head to toe, covered in mud and slime and blood. The gun rattled slightly in his hands. The beast realised what was happening, just metres from him now. It began to hiss, and once again Drake felt all hope and good feeling sapped from his weary, beleaguered body. What was the point? As if sensing Drake's reaction, the insect opened its dreadful maw wider and screeched all the louder. Drake pulled the trigger. The bullet impacted the beast on its upper jaw, and the creature's head exploded backwards. The monster collapsed, mindless, and was finally, thankfully still. Even in death its eyes radiated malice. Drake breathed a sigh of relief, though he wondered how many more he would take. He collapsed onto his back, shattered. His pain and raw fear were replaced by a sort of dull, numb emptiness. His suit must have injected something into his bloodstream, though his HUD still flashed a red symbol in the corner. Drake let out a weak tendril of thought and shut off the symbol, something along the lines of 'death is imminent'. Drake didn't care any more. He felt warm, though he knew he shouldn't. He didn't smell the rancid stench of the beast's corpse, nor did he feel the strange coldness of his left arm. He didn't see the strange angle at which his ankle bent, nor his HUD's insistence that he find a weapon of some sort, nor the numerous red dots that represented hostiles, showed all around him on his sensors. All Drake felt was the odd warmth in his spent body, and the deep, agonising despair in his heart. The world was crumbling, he would never see the ones he loved ever again, and he and his comrades, who had laughed and wept and bled together, would all die very, very soon. He had defeated his last enemy, the gatekeeper to his demise. Now he was free to die alone, empty, and cold. The drug was wearing off. He began to feel cold to his core. He cursed the world, cursed the Swarm, cursed his own foolishness. Oh, to see the world end like this! To die in such a depraved, pitiful state! Gathering the strength he had left, though where from Drake would never know, he rolled over onto his front, curled up with his back to the sky and his knees on the ground. He cradled his head in his arms, pulled off his battered helmet to expose his battered face to the cold, vicious night wind. Hot tears streamed down his cold face. He raised his pistol to his temple, stone cold just as he now was. He touched the muzzle to his skin, whispering faintly of death as if it was far off, not close enough to sense as it was. He tried to think of reasons not to pull the trigger- but nothing came to mind. He took up first pressure on the trigger. One quick squeeze now and all the pain and suffering and despair would be over. He should control his own death, rather than leave it to fate. He should do it. Click. Drake opened his eyes slowly. Nothing had changed. He was still freezing and shaking and dying both inside and out. His gun was empty. Fate had outsmarted him. He rolled over, with great effort, onto his back again. Let death take him now, he thought, before those beasts catch my scent and come looking for fresh meat. Take me now. "I'm ready..." he whispered quietly, and his eyes closed very slowly, and his consciousness began to fade like a bright light being extinguished. The last tendril of thought left his body, not reluctantly...he did not hear the distant whine of a Falcon, faint but unmistakeable. Category:Stories